


Not My Area

by SailorChibi



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Beads, Dom!John, Fantasy, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, One-Shot, Role Playing, Spanking, Toys, Virgin!Sherlock, but hey those are the best ones, dark!john, dub con, one of those prompts that would not leave me be, short but filthy, sub!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 15:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John comes home to find that Sherlock has been experimenting with anal beads. He decides to "help".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not My Area

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock belongs to Moffat, Gatiss, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
> 
> This was written for a delicious [prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21231.html?thread=123478767#t123564015) on the kink meme. I literally could not help it.

Sherlock is so fucking beautiful when he cries.

John sits in what has become his chair, reclining slightly against the back. His gorgeous flatmate is seated on his lap, knees on either side of John's thighs so that John can spread his legs and by extension Sherlock's, giving him easy access to everything in between. He has his hands placed firmly over that arse, that plump, full arse, kneading at the pinkened skin while Sherlock writhes again and cries softly, big tears sliding down his cheeks. His trembling hands clutch weakly at John's shoulders, tugging at the worn material like he wants to get John's attention but can't bring himself to think of what he wants to say.

"Lovely," John murmurs with satisfaction, squeezing just a bit harder. Sherlock jerks against him with a low whimper and it's the most attractive sound John has ever heard. His day at the surgery had been horribly long but it's all been erased by this, by walking in the door of the flat and finding Sherlock hunched over on the sofa, stark naked and struggling, two beads hanging obscenely out of his dusky pink hole. A case, he'd said, flushed and rumpled and wide-eyed, a case involving certain sexual elements and he'd been curious, of course he was, he was Sherlock Holmes, and now he didn't know what to do because his body wouldn't listen to him anymore and oh god John please _help me_...

And of course John had taken it upon himself to help.

"How's that feel?" he asks lowly, sliding a finger between and nudging at the string that is poking out of Sherlock's entrance. He's rewarded with another little squeak and a desperate squirm, a wiggle almost, that makes the skin of his arse push into John's hands in a pleasing way, so he does it again.

"G-good," Sherlock stutters, eyes squeezing shut and then opening up wide. "John, please, take them out. I'm relaxed now, right?"

"Just let me check again. I don't want you to hurt yourself. And you don't want another reminder to behave, do you?" He gropes again, pinching the flesh firmly, relishing the way Sherlock nods so fast it must hurt. He pushes harder this time, sliding the tip of his finger inside that greedy muscle, and hits the tip of a small bead. Judging by the way Sherlock throws his head back and squeals it's caused a chain reaction that must be very pleasurable indeed. "Hmm, yes, you seem like you're getting there. But I'm not sure you're ready yet, Sherlock."

"John," he whines. "I can't take it anymore."

"You'll take what I give you," John says sharply. Sherlock pulls back, wide eyed, and looks uncertain but he doesn't get the chance to move away because John tugs him closer again. He gives a warning tap with his fingers and it's enough to make Sherlock subside against him with a shudder. "I've spanked you once to make you listen. Don't make me do it again."

Although he almost hopes that Sherlock does. John doesn't think he'll get tired of feeling Sherlock's surprisingly heavy weight across his thighs or seeing the way that round, juicy flesh jiggles when his hand comes down hard against it. Sherlock had been pulling away from him, resisting the idea of John pushing those last two beads in, and he'd hauled his flatmate across his lap without thinking twice. Twenty hard swats later Sherlock had been limp and whimpering, sweet needy sounds that made John's ears ring, and he'd pushed those beads in and felt every shuddering jerk against his cock as a result. Relax, he'd said soothingly, running his hands down in between, massaging Sherlock's perineum, fondling his balls, rubbing at his winking entrance. Relax.

"Relax," he repeats.

"I can't," Sherlock sobs, not for the first time. "I don't - why isn't my body _listening to me_?"

Because it's mine, John thinks with heady satisfaction, because I can't think of anything more gorgeous than you here on my lap, knowing you're mine to mould, knowing that I'm the only one who has ever touched you like this.

"I think," he says, "it's time to make it stop."

"Really?" Sherlock looks hesitant, hands closing compulsively around the fabric of John's shirt, like he’s not sure whether he’s heard right. "John..."

"Shh, sweetheart, I know. I'll take care of you. You trust me right?"

Sherlock smiles uncertainly. "Yes..."

"Good boy." He squeezes a bit more gently this time and licks his lips, eyeing that flushed cock. Good lord yes it's time. "Come on, Sherlock. Remember to relax. Bear down a little and it'll all be over soon, okay?"

He grips the edge of that string.

Pop!

The moan Sherlock makes doesn't actually sound human.

Pop!

John sucks the tip of his cock into his mouth, suckling at the sweetly salty taste.

Pop!

There’s a flesh of pain in his shoulders as Sherlock howls and digs his nails in.

Pop!

And then he’s sobbing, writhing, squirming against John, his whole body dancing, breath stuttering, and _whimpering_ , and it's glorious.

Pop!

Bitter fluid spurts into John's mouth as Sherlock comes apart, wailing and convulsing, his back arching as the last bead exits his body. He collapses into John's waiting arms as John swallows the last of his semen, then licks his lips again to get every last bit. His cock is hard inside of his trousers but he can barely think about that now, not when Sherlock is slumped against him, shaking and still making a low keening sound that's not quite crying but close. John sets the beads aside and brushes a curl off of Sherlock's forehead, rearranging him into a position that's a bit more comfortable for both of them.

"How was that?" he says.

"Fuck," Sherlock mutters, closing his eyes.

It might not be an invitation but John happily decides he'll take it as one in - he eyes his exhausted lover for a moment and then brushes a kiss across Sherlock’s sweaty forehead - about twenty minutes.


End file.
